Slows You Down
by purplehairedwonder
Summary: 6.13 missing scene. Sam remembers. Had he really said that about family?


**Author's Note:** A missing scene in the middle of 6.13 "Unforgiven." Needless to say, then, spoilers abound for the episode.

**Disclaimer:** Not mine.

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Slows You Down

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As Sam sat down on the dilapidated couch in the house they were squatting in, placing the box with the case files on the table, he watched as Dean started pacing in front of the cold fireplace. His brother rubbed his face through his hands and threw a few covert glances toward Sam, who averted his eyes to the cardboard box. He almost wondered if getting the box of files had been worth the memories that had come back from Brenna's living room…

"_He misses her," Brenna said about Samuel's fond reverie about Mary as he headed for the garage to grab another beer. "At least you two have each other."_

"_Well Samuel wasn't really around when I was a kid," Sam replied. "We have more of a business relationship."_

"_But do you have any other family?" Brenna asked._

"_Family just slows you down."_

When the memory had come back, Sam had felt like he'd been punched in the gut. A Winchester never turned his back on his family no matter what. Family was all they had learned to depend on over the years. Even in their stupidest moments, John, Dean, and Sam had all been somehow motivated by protecting each other. At his lowest while hooked on demon blood, some twisted part of Sam had justified what he was doing as protecting Dean; Dean had been too torn up by Hell to stop the Apocalypse, so he'd been stepping in for him…

Sam regretted more than anything his terrible decisions during that year, but never the fact that he had only wanted to look out for his brother.

But this? This part of him that had been topside for a year and a half completely disregarded that. Sam knew he'd done some terrible things in this town, brief flashes almost as if through the eyes of someone else coming more frequently the more he dug into the case, but the memory of rejecting Dean's worth in his life hurt the most acutely.

He'd hunted with the Campbells for a year—family only in the loosest sense—while leaving Dean with Lisa and Ben. Because the closer the family, the more they slowed you down.

Sam rubbed a hand up and down his arm unconsciously, fighting the cold creeping in from the thought.

Sam could practically feel the tension radiating off of Dean from across the flimsy table, could see the hunched curl of his shoulders and downturn of his lips without looking. He'd seen the protective look on Dean's face more times than he could count; he took comfort in it even now, at nearly thirty years old. His brother's steps were moving in a constant beat as he thumped back and forth, gathering his thoughts. Sam realized he was counting in time with his brother's familiar steps, too caught up in the familiar pattern. He shook his head to himself.

His brother was familiar. His brother was safe. His brother was strength.

And Sam, sans conscience, had thought his brother slowed him down.

A brief memory of a wrecked honeymoon suite flashed across Sam's mind and his insides clenched. His fingers twitched uncomfortably at the sudden memory of the feel of Dean's neck under them as Sam had choked him. He swallowed the bile threatening to rise in his throat at the memory.

When Sam had confronted Dean about being soulless after Portland, Dean had tried to deflect; had declared that he wasn't the same guy as the other Sam. But remembering how the demon blood had affected him, had muted his conscience, Sam couldn't bring himself to take the offered out. He appreciated Dean offering it, more than he could ever say, but he wasn't going to lie to himself about it. He'd learned his lesson about that the hard way.

Love for Dean came more naturally than breathing for Sam. He'd been looking up to his brother since before he could remember. Their father might have taught them how to survive in the world, taught them to hunt, but Dean had taught him how to _live_.

God, how could he ever think Dean would slow him down? What had Dean said under that bridge?

"_I just know we're all we've got. More than that, we keep each other human."_

Sam's eyes widened and his stomach sank. That was really the crux of it, wasn't it? He was getting the picture from what Cas and Dean had said and the memories that were leaking from behind the wall that without his soul, he was the ultimate hunter; he unconcerned with anything but getting the job done (and getting laid, apparently, much to Dean's amusement). When he'd been on the demon blood, he'd been concerned with getting stronger to stop Lilith, stop the Apocalypse, get revenge for Dean's being in Hell and the broken man he'd come back as. What it took didn't matter.

Both versions of himself were so focused on the ends that his humanity had been squashed.

And for both versions of himself, Dean was an obstacle.

This soulless version of himself had just brought out the same parts of himself that he'd hated and spent the year prior to his fall into the Pit trying to make up for. It felt like starting all over again. And that's why he couldn't let Dean alleviate his guilt. He'd been down that road before even with a soul. More than anything, that was why he had to make things right.

He had to prove to Dean, prove to himself, that he wasn't that guy anymore. And if that meant scratching at the wall a bit to figure out this case and set some wrongs right, he'd risk it.

Sam reached into the file box and pulled out the top folder, feeling Dean's eyes turn to him, thought he didn't stop his pacing. Sam was going to fix what needed fixing, starting with this case. Then maybe, just maybe, he could dare to face his brother again after what he remembered.

- _Finis_ -


End file.
